Vigilance
by VictorianSongbird1857
Summary: A vignette inspired by S. T. Coleridge's "Frost at Midnight". William Pitt. Harry Potter Alternate Universe: November, 1798


VIGILANCE

William Pitt stared into the fire, eyes half-closed, dreading the one portending flame. He watched it dance away from the other flames. Semi-transparent, it wove a blue-ribboned way across the fire basket, then concentrated on an inside corner. There was no mistaking the sign. The news would come tonight. But what would be the message?

Pitt was alone. It was just as well. Speech would have blurred by now, though not his understanding. No, not that. He started pouring a third bottle of port. His fingers trembled with the effort.

One of his housemaids was brought to bed. Pitt had last seen her in the sixth month of her pregnancy, while making final arrangements for her confinement. He knew from the way she carried that this was her first child. Pitt's two daughters, with their Welsh surname, were more than reasonably provided for. So would this one be. The housemaid was called 'Jane'.

She was quiet from the first. He would look up from his work, sunlight startled. Jane tended the coals, visibly wishing herself invisible, as all housemaids should be. Then she was the near-invisible aid during a bout of agony twelve months ago. Jane held the basins of blood and vomit. The cooling cloths were hers. She changed the linens without embarrassment. She should not have been in his private apartments, but this did not cross Pitt's mind until much later.

After his convalescence, he saw to it that she had her own room. It was small enough and close enough to the servant quarters not to cause much rumor. It was far enough from his apartments to avoid suspicion. He went to her at his need. It was not like the brothels, done quickly for mental and physical health. It was not as it might have been with Eleanor, although he courteously taught Jane as he might have taught her. It was always in the empathetic dark, in silent asking without words, and gentle bearing down. A flickering candle embraced half-formed shadows on the wall.

Pitt knew Jane came from Chepstow, but little else. Once, languid, he glanced over to the candle on the narrow washstand and reached for the book he found there: _Y Llyfr Gweddi Gyffredin_. A Book of Common Prayer in Welsh. He asked Jane to sound out the title page for him. She did so reluctantly. He asked about the inscription: "How do you say this name?"

"SHON-id."

"'Sioned Jones'. Was she your mother?"

"No. It is my name."

He was genuinely surprised. "Then why are you called 'Jane'?"

"Y_ Saeson_," she said. "You English. You always want English names." She turned away. He left without touching her again, afraid it would be an insult.

That was in February. It was now early November. Pitt attended to his daily work as usual. He dined as usual. At midnight (as per his recent habit) he drank too much for the physical pain, as usual. Tonight he drank alone. The port warmed his face, but not his shaking hands.

A slight insistent tapping. Pitt turned his too hot face towards the window. The night was still. Upon the panes, frost spelled itself out in ministering runes he refused to understand. The tapping again. He finally saw the owl, small and almost invisible against the darkness. Pitt walked carefully, if not soberly, to the casement.

The message was brief: _A fine boy. One blue eye and one green_. It was in Jane's handwriting.

"She is safe," Pitt thought. "I have a son."

A son. His body sobered. "Wait," he said to the owl. When he returned, he carried a small velvet bag. At the desk, he wrote a message while the owl looked at it right side up by twisting her head upside down. If the owl had been able, she would have read the following indiscreet note:

_I give what I have: The last of my ancestral wealth in diamonds and, when I die, the oaken wand.  
It contains a caladrius feather core. May it bring courage and healing when needed. If we  
should not meet again, remember the emblem which seals this message: The boy anchors my  
actions, for a heron in its vigilance will always protect the young.  
_  
_ -Wm Pitt._


End file.
